Don't leave me
by Banehollow
Summary: Dean is forced to leave when he receives a phone call from a worried friend. During his absense, Sam and John finally begin to bond, but soon after John meets a new best friend with a bad 'air' to him, he falls into a regular routine of being drunk. With Dean gone and nobody there to keep John and Sam from clashing, Sam is forced to endure the bloodshed.
1. Chapter 1

The story is based around the end of season 7, in a alternate universe where everything goes the same as it has, though John never died. He dissapeared from the hospital after the crash, and returned around the time Sam went to face off with Lucifer, to say yes.  
The fanfiction was inspired a lot by the song "Demons - By Brian Mcfadden"

Dean is forced to leave when he receives a phone call from a worried friend. During his absense, Sam and John finally begin to bond, but soon after John meets a new best friend with a bad 'air' to him, he falls into a regular routine of being drunk. With Dean gone and nobody there to keep John and Sam from clashing, Sam is forced to endure the bloodshed.  
WARNING - Torture

(Also, no need to worry everybody. Dean WILL be in the story. Most likely he will be in either the next chapter, or chapter 3. One of the two.)

"Just a pop, thanks." John Winchester answered to the blonde waitress, who gave a nod and dissapeared into the back to fetch him his bevarage. He had decided to hit the bar before he headed home to his not-so-little son, Sam, to pick up dinner. With Dean gone for the next couple of months, John was left with the responsibility of dinner. On the first night of Dean's absence, Sam had attempted to cook up a simple pot of noodles. To put a story to short, his son has become frustrated with the wait and when he went to jack the heat up...well, there was a shout of suprise when the water began to boil profusely, a flash of hands, and a crash as pot met foot. John had done no better either when trying to make hotdogs.

How the hell was he soppoused to know to take the wrapper off first? It wasn't like there was any instructions on the damn thing.

A smirk crossed John's lips as he thought of this. It had been almost two weeks now since Dean dissapeared in a rush to help a friend, and rather than fighting with his youngest son(which he had expected would happen), he was enjoying every second of it.

"Just a soda? Come on man, it's a friday. Let me buy you a beer."

John jerked from his thoughts, seeming to think that a ghost or wendigo was stupid enough to try and kill him in a heavily-populated bar, though he quickly calmed down some when he saw it was another guy. He wasn't tall nor was he short, and he had the grayest eyes he'd ever seen. If John hadn't known any better, he might have thought that the man had stones for eyes, rather than..well, eyes. He had a bit of a belly on him, but he wasn't fat or obsese, and he had short blond hair with dark brown roots. Hair dye. John hated it when people dyed their hair, finding it be a waste of time and money.

But even so, John forced a grin and looked back at the man.

"Nah, but thanks for the offer. My son is expecting me back soon, and I don't think that he will be pleased if I come home smelling of beer."

"Your son? Come on, don't tell me you aren't letting him drag ya' down. Live while ya' can, have a beer. It's on me."

John tightened his jaw for a moment, becomeing irritated with the man now. "I already said no, asking me twice won't make me want one any more."

"What if I asked a third time, John?"

"Let's not be childis; Wait.. How the fuck do you know my name-" John was cut off when the man reached over, waving his hand across John's face. Enraged, and confused by his action, he began to yell at the man to cut it out, though his protest was quickly ended by a change of heart. "Sure man, I'll take that offer." John agree'd. _What the hell?_ John thought.

"Hey, Whitney! Be a dear and make that soda a beer."

Sam's head was killing him, that was a given. Ever since his brother had left, the head aches were becomeing worse. It was only the other night that it had become so bad that he couldn't even keep a pot of noodles on the stove before he knocked it off, and it had kept him up all night long. He couldn't moan or whimper at all through it, considering how cramped the motel room was. He couldn't even turn on his radio without the man living next door getting pissed.

When you walked through the door, there was a small four-person table beside a crappy fridge. There was only three counters to use, and the only sink in the house was in the bathroom. The living room, which was just a beaten up brown couch and a old-fashioned tv, was combined with the kitchen. When sitting at the table, you could look directly into the bedroom(there was no door, just a empty door frame. (Sam+Alchohal=Broken shit.), which John still needed to fix.) In the bedroom was a two-person bed, obviously haveing been meant for a married couple, and a tiny bedstand. John had insisted on buying a room with more than one bed, but the manager had refused without even looking up at the three boys. The man, who obviously hated his job told John that there was no rooms available other than the one with a single queen-sized bed. Which was total bullshit, because on the way to their room they notice that one of the motel rooms beside it had "vacant; for rent' on it, and there was three single beds visible through the window.

This had pissed off John, makeing him turn to go and yell at the manager, but before he could Dean had stopped him, not wanting to cause a disturbance. They had already been kicked out of two motels within the month, and with money running tight they couldn't afford another move.

It felt as if somebody had taken a nail to the back of his head and tryed to pound it into his skull. No amount of medication was helping him, and even if it was, it wouldn't matter. Two night back, Sam had finished off the last of the asprin, practically od'ing on the shit in the middle of the night in a fight against his head ache, which he lost.

_"Come on now Sam..you fight werewolves, and yet you're letting a headache kick your ass?"_

Sam could almost hear Dean now, looking at him oddly as he succumbed to a headache. This earned a smirk on Sam's face, and with some new form of motivation, he used up a bit of his energy in a effort to blink his heavy eyes open.

Success.

Alright, now for phase two of his brilliant plan. Slowly, still fighting a battle with his eyelids, he was moving to swing his legs over the side of the couch in order to stand up, and he almost had too. If it hadn't been for the sound of the door crashing open, the suddan blast of cold wind and the sound of rain slashing through air. How Sam had somehow managed now to hear the sound of the rain earlier despite how heavy it was, was beyond him. Blinking in suprise, it took Sam a moment to make out who had crashed open the door through a mist of agonizing headaches.

"What the hell are you stareing at, ungrateful brat?"

The voice was unmistakeable.

"Dad, are you drunk?"

That was a stupid question if he had ever heard one before. When his father came staggering into the room, a nearly empty bottle of jack, he wasn't even sober enough to close the door behind him. Suddanly forgetting all of his aches, Sam quickly stood to his feet, maneuvering carefully around his father who took a drunken step back, and closed the door before the rain could ruin their already ruined furniture.

"No...Yes. Why the hell does it matter to you? Monster's shouldn't care. Can't. Can't care. Monster."

He spoke through a slick slur of alchohal, before stumbling back and landing butt-first on the couch. Luckily though, he caught himself in a sit. He took one more quick swig out of the bottle before returning to glare at his son.

"What does it matter to me? Dad, you promised me that you wasn't going to drink this badly again." He was trying his best to ignore the monster comment, and though his words hid it well, that new, prominent pain in his eyes were a dead giveaway. But it seemed that his father was either too drunk to notice, or simply didn't care. Hell, for a moment it seemed like Johned grinned at this, satisfied that he had managed to strike his son in a emotional sense. As he spoke, his father seemed to be ready to tip over, and so without second thought Sam took a quick step forward, ready to catch his father. That was a mistake.

"Don't touch me!" John suddanly shouted, suddanly to his feet with a amazing amount of stealth for a drunken man. "Don't you fucking touch me, you filthy monster!" Another flash of pain in Sam's eyes.

John couldn't stand that. Why did his son, his son who he had tried to raise to be strong, have to be so emotionally weak? "Dad, maybe you should go lay down..." He heard his son's voice. His son's weak, childish voice. Now, more determined to make his father go to bed, Sam carefully moved to give his father a gentle tug on the sleeve, urging him towards the bed.* "Dad, please?" *He asked. If his father had only been slightly drunk, Sam wouldn't have been as worried. But knowing his father when he was this drunk... the faster he slept it off, the better off everyone would be.*

At first, Sam began to worry that John was going to resist, but he was relieved when his father just gave a short nod and followed after him. Like a child, Sam had to stand beside the bed, staring at John with a demanding look, until he was certain he wouldn't have to lead a drunken man back to bed once more.

After what seemed like forever, Sam was finally sure that would be no masterful escape or late-night wandering from the nearly passed out man, he flicked out the lights and quietly made his way back to the couch. Ignoreing his own lack of sleep, Sam quickly grabbed the remote, flicked on the tv, thuogh turned it down low so his father wouldn't hear.

Despite his best efforts, Sam found it too difficult a task in trying to forget his father's comment. It had been a while since his father had gotten so heavily drunk, and that hadbeen the last time any of the monster comments were brought up. He had thought that they were past all this, finally beginning to bond. Or maybe it was just the alchohal..maybe when John woke up the next morning, everything would go back to the way it had been the last two weeks. Him and John would laugh, crack a joke now and then, and have a good time. Maybe even open up about a few things.

This almost made Sam chuckle. The thought of him and John haveing a deep, meaningful conversation about the meaning of life was so unrealistic that is comical. "Yeah..thank god Dean isn't here to read my mind. Or else he'd be crying about a chick-flick moment." With a almost forced smirk, Sam figured it was time to crash.

He was about to flick off the tv, when a sudden pain exploded in the back of hid head. There was the shattering of glass, a shout of pain, and blackness over took Sam.


	2. Introductions

The fanfiction was inspired a lot by the song "Demons - By Brian Mcfadden"

Dean is forced to leave when he receives a phone call from a worried friend. During his absence, Sam and John finally begin to bond, but soon after John meets a new best friend with a bad 'air' to him, he falls into a regular routine of being drunk. With Dean gone and nobody there to keep John and Sam from clashing, Sam is forced to endure the bloodshed.

WARNING - Torture

(The next chapter will be entirely Dean, so no need to worry about Dean not being in the story. :3)

Previously, on Supernatural -

_"Your son? Come on, don't tell me you aren't letting him drag ya' down. Live while ya' can, have a beer. It's on me." _

_John tightened his jaw for a moment, becoming irritated with the man . "I already said no, asking me twice won't make me want one any more."_

_"What if I asked a third time, John?" _

_"Let's not be childis; Wait.. How the fuck do you know my name-" John was cut off when the man reached over, waving his hand across John's face. Enraged, and confused by his action, he began to yell at the man to cut it out, though his protest was quickly ended by a change of heart. "Sure man, I'll take that offer." John agreed. _

_What the hell? John thought. _

_"Hey, Whitney! Be a dear and make that soda a beer." _  
_- _  
_"Dad, are you drunk?" _  
_- _  
_After what seemed like forever, Sam was finally sure that would be no masterful escape or late-night wandering from the nearly passed out man, he flicked out the lights and quietly made his way back to the couch. Ignoreing his own lack of sleep, Sam quickly grabbed the remote, flicked on the tv, though turned it down low so his father wouldn't hear. _  
_- _  
_He was about to flick off the tv, when a sudden pain exploded in the back of his head. There was the shattering of glass, a shout of pain, and blackness over took Sam._

Now..

There was no attempt from either men to clean up the mess.

The couch, the floor around it, and even the tv was covered in broken glass and blood. The glass originating from the bottle of jack, and the blood...

He had expected the entire thing to go down in a quick and clean manner. Not for one moment had he expected it turn into such a mess; into such a bloody thing.. But that was the luck of a Winchester.

He had been half asleep, never more ready to fall into the blissful silence of sleep, when he seemed to lose all authority over his own body. His mind was still a controlled piece, but even his mind was soon lost to panic. He watched, with his own two eyes, as he drunkenly swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up to his feet. He didn't even look down as he gripped the bottle of Jack, which still contained some of the liquid, with his hand and started out into the main room of the motel room. It was with panic that he realized what was about to happen only seconds before it actually did.

John's hand raised, slowly, like a over-dramatic scene you usually see in horror movies, and for a moment he seemed to hesitate. "No! Don't!" John shouted mentally, fear rising as he fought to regain control over his body. But his efforts were made in vain.

The bottle came down hard, Sam shouting in pain the moment the glass shattered over his head, and he toppled off the couch. For a moment, he nearly fell over into the side, but he managed to catch himself mid-fall and land on his knees and elbows. Though this seemed to be a bad choice.

Glass had pierced his skin right above his right eyes, blood already beginning the slow trail down the side of his head. But when his arms and knees came down on top the shards of glass littered across the floor, Sam made no attempt to muffle his cry of pain.

In only a matter of seconds, Sam went from calmly watching tv to watching his own blood drip rapidly from multiple puncture wounds all up and down his arms. Though his knees were the worst off, the glass instantly pushed deep into his flesh. For a moment, Sam's sight blurred and black spots appeared, but by some strange power of will Sam managed to pull himself to his feet. "What the hell- Stay down you little bitch." John growled, obviously suprised that Sam was still standing after the impact. But Sam either didn't hear him, or clearly didn't give a shit because he was rounding the couch and pouncing at his father in minutes. In a flurry of punches, grabbing, and shouts, Sam finally managed to pull his father to the ground where he had hoped to pin John. He should have watched his father's body movement more carefully while he scuffled to pin him, because he never saw it coming before it hit him.

John's hand flashed down, grabbing the knife that he kept in his pocket, and flashed it forward. He had only meant to maybe scratch him, in an attempt to scare Sam off him, but that was a stupid move. Sam's hand flashed out, attempting to hold down John's shoulder while he kept his feet planted firmly on of John's ankles. This only succeeded in throwing off John's aim. The knife flew across Sam's face, slicing from the bottom of his jaw underneath his ear, across his face diagonally and across his left eye, and then ended at the top of his forehead. Blood splattered down on John's own face, and a scream of pain erupted from Sam's throat as he toppled of his father and to his side, clutching his bleeding face tightly with his glass-covered hands. His father made no attempt to check on his son, did not even hesitate before he quickly moved to his feet. Ignoring Sam's shouts, John delivered a quick punch to the side of his son's face. Almost instantly, Sam's struggle stopped and his entire body stilled, knocked unconscious. "Oh god..what have I done.." John thought to himself, absolutely horrified. But still he had no control over his body.

-

Everything was a fog. A thick, heavy fog that blanketed Sam, weighing him down so much that trying to pry open his eye lids was a huge effort. Everything came to him slowly.

He could feel something cold and hard pressed around his wrists, binding them together against something. The only reason he knew it was against something is because he wasn't able to move his hands at all. Alright, one thing down. Unable to rely on his fuzzy, adjusting eyesight, Sam made an attempt to move his legs but instead he was assaulted by an agonizing pain. One that made his breath catch and his back arch slightly until it passed. He waited until his eyes fully adjusted now, though it appeared that only one of his eyes would adjust. Meanwhile, the other one remained too fuzzy to see out of.

He was laid out, back-down on the two person bed of their motel, with both hands locked tightly in handcuffs, and a chain trailed off them, connecting to the bedpost. It seemed that John was not too worried about Sam escaping. Around both of his ankles were chains, and those too were tied off to each of the bed posts. The only difference being that his feet were separated, not tied together. But as Sam looked over his legs, it slowly became apparent why it hurt too much to move his legs. Some tiny pieces of glass were imbedded in both of his knees, but the two large pieces of glass in each knee was the main source of pain.

Carefully now, Sam made a very slow attempt to turn his body only a little so that he could see through the door frame, the only source of light that flooded on his face. He saw him there, his father, sitting at the table.

He was hunched over a glass of what Sam assumed to be alcohol, but what confused Sam the most was the man who sat beside John. He wasn't able to make much out on the man other than then his dyed blond hair.

"Now listen to me very carefully, John." The man's voice made Sam flinch. It was calm, drawn out, and persuasive. It was like that of a snake. "The thing in your bed is not your son. Do you understand me?"

"Yes" His voice was almost like that of a soldier, quick to agree without so much as even thinking.

"He is nothing more than a plaything. To break and use however you feel. Or, well, in this case how I feel. But you get what I mean." The man stopped a moment to give a sadistic chuckle, a look of excitement in his eyes. A look of excitement from the thought of getting to use Sam however he wanted. "Now, John, I want you to go out to this location' he slid him a piece of paper with something scribbled on it 'And tell the people there that they are invited to a party here, curtsy of Matthew. They'll know what you mean." Without waiting for John's reply, since he knew the man would rush out to do as he ordered, he began to walk towards the bedroom.

He stopped at the door frame, staring at the bloodied, tied up boy until he heard the sound of the door opening, some scuffling, and then the click of the door closing. The moment he knew that John was gone and out to tell of the party, he leaned over to flick on the room's light and walked over towards the bed.

A feeling of fear washed over Sam, knowing that in his current predicament he would have no way of fighting off the man, and he made a futile attempt to scoot away. But his efforts was meant only be a sharp, burning pain that erupted from his glass-covered knees and arms. Though he managed to bite back a pained groaned, he wasn't able to hide the wince and flash of pain in his eyes.

"Oh, come on Sammy. I'm not going to hurt you..badly, no need to act so afraid."

"Sam"

"What?"

"My name is Sam, asshole. And I'm not supposed to talk to talk to strangers." Sam snapped at him, figuring that the biggest defense he had left at this point is sarcasm.

For a moment, the man gave a honest-to-god-hurt look, though it quickly faded into a small smirk as he stepped forward and rested his knee on the edge of the bed. Before Sam could flinch away, the blond man quickly grabbed Sam by the chin, forcing his head to look at him. "Strangers? Well then, we'll just have to fix that." His voice was that of a purr, and he let his eyes drift over Sam's body, inspecting every part of it. After what seemed like forever, a really uncomfortable forever, he finally moved his eyes back to Sam. "My name is nice and simple, much like yours. But we need to start over before I tell you my name. I mean, we are starting off in a really tense atmosphere here. It's just not healthy for our relationship." A light smile touched the man's lip, and he kept his eyes locked into Sams the entire time, even when he let go of Sam's chin and began to trail his hand down his chest.

"I'll start us off then. My name is Matt, short for Matthew. But I prefer Matt if you don't mind." Sam did not respond, deciding not to give 'Matt' the pleasure of a response. "Come now Sammy, you should know it's rude to ignore your friends like this. Especially when you have such an ugly face... I thought people who looked all effed up appreciated a friend." He muttered, chewing his lip thoughtfully while staring at the long, ugly and bleeding cut across Sam's face. The blood had soaked most of the hair, giving a greasy and messy look to it. But still, no response from Sam other than the hateful glare at being called Sammy.

Matt gave a frustrated look, and for a moment he attempted to think of ways to get an answer. He knew all to well that inflicting pain on any Winchester was useless. They was too used to it. But that was fine, because Matthew had used plenty of different methods in his life. He stood to his feet, and without giving a glance to the Winchester boy, he moved across the room and started to look through a dusty old duffel bag that had not been there earlier.

"You know, Sam." He started to say casually, as if talking to an old buddy. "I really, really hate to be made the bad guy here. I mean, I really thought that we could be buddies." A smile etched itself upon his face, having found what he was looking for. "But I can see now that you don't want to be my friend...and that's fine. Honestly. Just, don't expect me to happy about your rejection." Matt spoke while he stood, small pocket knife in hand while he moved back to the bed, kneeling on it. "You're getting me all emotional, Sammy." The man's voice seemed to coo like one would when speaking to an infant.

Only most people didn't take a knife to an infant.

Flipping the small pocket knife from its holder, place the tip of the knife at the top of Sam's waist, tearing through his jeans like they wasn't even there. Matt felt Sam jerk beneath the cold tip of the knife, and without needing to look up he could already feel the heat of his glare, burning into his neck. "Get the fuck off of me." Sam hissed, but in reply to this the knife was pressed into the skin. Closing his eyes shut tightly in a wince, the youngest Winchester stubbornly refused to whimper, to show the pain. But his display of refusal was cut short when the knife suddenly plunged in a little deeper, slicing through skin and muscle, before Matt suddenly slashed forward, cutting clear down to his thigh.

"Bastard!" Matt heard Sam shout through a gasp of pain, but Matt's interest was elsewhere. He watched the blood begin to turn blue jeans to a dark crimson as the blood dripped from the wound. And for a moment, Matt thought of using the knife a little more on the boy. Not for punishment, but just for his own cheap joy. Though the thought was quickly wiped out of his mind when there was the sound of knocking at the motel room's door. A grin snaked its way across the man's face. "No, I wouldn't want to rough you up too much. My friends need a turn to." And then the door opened.

-

I promise that the next chapter will be a Dean chapter. But meanwhile, I'd really appreciate some reviews. 3


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